A White Feather for Muriel
by whitetiger91
Summary: Muriel Prewett is sick of her parents nagging her to find a husband. When she runs into a local Muggle who also has issues with his parents, an alliance she did not suspect forms. Set during WWI. Alternative to 'White Feathers.'


_**A/N: This story may have some recognisable elements from my previous story, 'White Feathers.' This is mainly because this was going to be my original submission for the International Wizarding Schools Competition, Round 7. I changed my mind mid-way, however, and couldn't face an even bigger word cut down on this than I already did. I hope I made the right decision in choosing to submit the other story, and more so, that this is worth your time reading (and given that it is currently un-beta'd, that it's somewhat bearable mistake wise). **_

_**A humungous thank you to all those who have reviewed my stories this month—I will, hopefully, reply soon, but until then, THANK YOU! Xx**_

_**This story is for a few fellow IWSC members who always manage to put a smile on my face with their kind reviews: Hemlockconium, NinjaDevil2000, heidelbergchick, Lun27, and Liasis (and there are so many others that I promise I'll edit in when my brain is slightly less foggy—sorry!) :)**_

* * *

**A White Feather for Muriel**

Bright, warm sunlight lit the dirt road, but it did nothing to improve the mood of the auburn-haired woman storming down it. Tears ran down her ruddy cheeks, but she didn't bother wiping them away, her hands instead clenched into fists by her sides.

How dare her parents compare her to Bernice? That twit had only gotten married at seventeen because Muriel's brother had been desperate for a wife. In her opinion, seventeen was far too young for marriage anyway; although many people did consider twenty-four too old, she still had plenty of time to find a husband. It wasn't her fault that the one man she would consider wedding was off on an adventure with his friend.

She clenched her teeth as she almost slipped on the hem of her skirts. If her parents really wanted to help her, they wouldn't have bought such hideous clothes. Not only did they have the puffiest sleeves imaginable, but they were also the ugliest shade of red. The burgundy clashed horribly with her fiery hair, making her stand out in a way she didn't want.

"Look out!"

_Beeeeeeeeep!_

Muriel barely had time to register the strange honking noise as she was hurled to the side of the road. Mud splashed up at her boots and dress, but she was saved from toppling over completely by a strong grip around her waist.

"That was a close one," a deep voice said, pulling her back onto the road.

Muriel stared at the man in front of her, her eyes trailing from the dark hair protruding from beneath his cap, to his vivid blue eyes, and down to the smattering of freckles across his nose. His thin lips were lifted into a smile, widening even more as he glanced longingly back down the road. She followed his gaze, seeing a strange, four-wheeled machine rumbling down the path.

"Ugh, what will they think of next?" she said, glaring after the new Muggle contraption. She much preferred when they travelled by horse and cart.

"Cool, aren't they?" the man said, and when she turned back to him, she saw that his eyes were still focused on it. "One day, I'll learn to drive a car."

"Hmmph."

Pulling away from him, Muriel smoothed down her dress as best she could. She could feel the man's eyes upon her again, but she didn't give him the satisfaction of looking up Instead, on the pretence of fixing her hairpin, she peered at him through her eyelashes, taking in his dishevelled clothes and dirty hands. Recognition dawned on her as she realised he was the little Muggle farm-boy who used to team up with her brother and tease her.

Noticing the developing muscles beneath his shirt, she could see Thomas had certainly grown up since.

"Muriel, isn't it? Or should I call you burgundy girl?" he asked, stifling a laugh as he looked at her dress. "Where are you headed by yourself?"

"It's Miss Prewett to you. I was going to town, but now that my clothes are dirty, I shall have to head back," she said, turning from him. "And whilst it is none of your concern, I do _not _need a chaperone."

She started back off towards her house, but when the sound of hearty chuckling hit her ears, she whipped around and placed her hands on her hips.

Catching her glare, Thomas held up his hands. "What?"

"Stop laughing."

"Steady on. I just don't remember you being this feisty, that's all. It's not common in a lady, you know."

Muriel's cheeks burned, and she continued walking. She didn't need another person telling her that her behaviour wasn't normal. He fell into step with her, his hands casually placed in his pockets.

"Don't you have turnips to harvest?" she asked, increasing her pace.

Rather than scoffing at her rudeness, however, she heard him chuckle again. "Not in season at the moment. I don't feel like working,, anyway. Care to do something fun?"

Coming to a halt, Muriel fixed her eyes back on Thomas, unable to hide the way her eyebrows shot into her hairline. Walking to town without the company of a maid, brother, or husband was one thing; spending time alone with a man was an entirely different thing. Still, as she glanced quickly back at her house, knowing her parents were still inside plotting to find her another suitable match, her heartbeat quickened.

"What would we do?"

Thomas shrugged. "I dunno. Read? Talk? Not hang out with our parents?"

Muriel bit her lip. If her parents knew she was hanging around a man—and a Muggle man at that—they'd have a fit.

"Alright—but any unbecoming behaviour and I'm going straight back home, understand?"

"Aye, aye, your highness," he said, saluting her.

She rolled her eyes as she followed him further up the lane, past her house, and along the long, windy driveway of the Connors' farm. She'd only been at the farm a few times in her childhood, but she remembered it fairly well. It seemed they were heading towards the back shed they used to hide out in as children.

Before they reached it, however, Mr Connor came out of it.

"There you are, son! I wondered where—oh, hello, Miss Prewett; I haven't seen you for years," he said, slinging an arm around Thomas's shoulders.

Although Thomas smiled at his father, it came off like more of a grimace.

"I'm pleased to see you looking well," she said.

Mr Connor shook his head sadly. "I'm getting on in years. It's a good thing Thomas is still here to help me, though. I can't say I like this war business at all."

At this, Thomas's smile vanished completely, and something dark flashed across his eyes.

Mr Connor didn't notice, however, and with a nod to Muriel, said, "Well, I'd best be back to work. Good day, Muriel."

She watched him amble down the drive, before turning to Thomas. The brunette, however, was already walking inside the shed. She hurried to catch up to him, a million questions on her lips.

"What's this about war?" she asked.

The shed looked just about the same as the other times she'd seen it, with the exception of a wooden writing desk and chair that was pushed up against the far wall. It was here that Thomas was now sitting, fiddling with something. As she wandered further inside, she saw that it was a large white feather.

He turned to her, his lips set in a grim line. "My father doesn't want me to enlist. He thinks I should waste my time helping him with the farm, not out fighting for my country like a man," he said.

Muriel had only heard bits and pieces of news that the Muggles were at war with each other, but it hadn't been that important. After all, it didn't affect any witches and wizards she knew; she couldn't even imagine them going to war. War was something only the likes of goblins and giants took part in.

"So, you _want_ to go and, er, fight?" she asked, surprised to see that Thomas's eyes suddenly lit up.

"It'd be such an adventure, don't you think? Fighting off the Hun, seeing new places, meeting new people…"

Muriel wrinkled her nose. "Couldn't you just have an adventure here?"

His grip on the feather tightened, crushing it. "I have to now. They won't let me enlist."

"Why not?"

"Scarlet fever when I was little. Left scars that make me unfit, according to Father. First time I've seen him pleased I had it," he said, his face darkening.

She still couldn't see why it was such a big problem that he couldn't go to war. Even so, she recognised his frustration as her own started seeping in again. What did their parents know?

"Well, you did promise me we'd do something fun," she said.

Thomas's scowl was slowly replaced with his smile again, and he nodded slowly. "Yes, yes I did. So… are you too much of a lady for fishing?"

Muriel returned his smile and allowed him to lead her back out of the shed, suddenly feeling much lighter knowing she had someone with similar problems by her side.

* * *

"Not so fast! I'll tear my dress!"

Muriel couldn't have cared less if she did rip her clothes—they, too, were an unbecoming burgundy, made better only by the matching red-brown ribbon Thomas had gifted her that morning—but it was beside the point. She balanced precariously on a boulder, not game to try leaping to the next lest she slipped and fell into the icy cold water.

Thomas came hopping back across the river. "Come on, burgundy girl, we'd get back a lot quicker if you just put on some trousers."

She scrunched up her nose, scandalised at such a thought. Having to traipse around in Muggle clothes was bad enough, but in clothes reserved for men? If her friends found out, they'd all laugh. Then again, if her friends knew she was having fun doing as she pleased rather than planning balls or having babies, they'd be more likely to be envious.

At that thought, her face brightened. "And you'd look a lot better if you smiled more. It hides your freckles," she said.

Thomas shook his head, smiling. "I've never met a woman with such a sharp tongue!"

He held out his hand, and she took it, allowing him to help her across each stone to the other river bank.

As they headed back through the forest towards town, silence washed over them, each lost in their own thoughts. Muriel focused on the dappled pattern the sunlight created on the forest floor as it shone through the leafy canopy above. It seemed to carry powers she did not know, settling the worried knot that was constantly in her stomach. Of all the paths she and Thomas had explored that week, both of them eager to get away from the problems facing them at home, she liked this path best. It led to the clear river they'd just crossed, and beyond that, a small clearing visited by deer, rabbits, and other woodland creatures. Her parents' constant bickering and disappointed groans couldn't reach her there, not even in her own mind.

It didn't stop every worry from flitting across her mind, though. As she stepped over a low tree root, she couldn't help but think about the man she knew would enjoy such a trek. She hadn't heard from his family in a while. She'd hoped that he would've returned from his travels, perhaps with the news that he realised he couldn't live without her.

"Are you planning on getting run over again?"

Blinking out of her thoughts, she realised that they'd already reached the town. Quite a few cars were trundling along the cobbled streets, making honking noises as people strolled past. Unlike the vehicle that almost ran her over the week before, these cars were khaki green and filled with quite a few Muggle men. They were all dressed in the same coloured clothes, and as she and Thomas made their way further along the street, she saw that most of the Muggle men were. Each one had a round brown hat on their head and had a funny-looking metal tube slung over their shoulder.

"That should be me," Thomas said quietly.

His eyes were narrowed as they walked past a table set up in the centre of the town, behind which sat two more similarly-dressed men. A line of young men stood in front of the table, their faces flushed with excitement as they jostled each other. Some of them looked like they should've still been in school.

"Is this about that war thing again?" she asked.

Quite a few people were giving them dark looks. Whilst they were just Muggles, she didn't want any of them to think she was being improper, and so she slid her arm through the crook of his elbow.

Thomas brought them to a stop in front of a young boy. Tossing him a coin, he took a newspaper and showed it to her. It was strange to see that the picture was not moving, but it was the title he was interested in. 'Huns on the Run' it said, highlighting a picture of a man in uniform waving the British Muggle flag.

"They're lying. They said the war would be over by now, but it's still going. They need my help!" Thomas said, rolling the paper up and slapping it against his wrist.

Muriel tilted her head, more confused than ever. "If it's still going, doesn't that mean that people on your—on our side are dying?"

"Exactly."

"So why do you still want to go?"

Thomas sighed, and with his free hand, raked his hair back. "You're starting to sound like my father," he said, his eyes trailing back over to the line of soldiers. That hungry look was back in his eyes. "I should be doing more…"

He didn't seem to notice the other uniformed men limping around. Some of them had patches over their eyes, others had their arms folded up in slings. Worst still, as Muriel pulled them aside so another with crutches could pass by, some were missing limbs. She couldn't help but wonder what kind of weapons the Muggles had that could cause such damage. She didn't blame Thomas's father for wanting to keep him home if they sustained such injuries.

She forced a smile on her face. "Come on, if we don't head home soon, my mother is likely to kill _me_."

It was enough to elicit a small smile from him, and together, they started back up the street. They didn't get far, however, as a Muggle stepped into their path. It was a young woman, and quite a pretty young woman at that. Her long, blonde hair flowed in curls from underneath a white hat, and her lashes were dark and thick.

A strange feeling inside Muriel reared its ugly head as the woman stepped forward and pressed a kiss on Thomas's cheek, tucking something into his breast pocket. She tried to squash down the feeling, pretending that it was simply a projection of what she wished she could do for the wizard she loved.

"You look strong. What have you been doing whilst your country needs you?" she purred.

To her surprise, Thomas didn't wink or grin. He stared at the white feather in his pocket, his cheeks growing red. Without warning, he released his arm from her grip and turned on his heel, marching away from them.

"There is no time for cowardice," said the blonde,.

Although Thomas hadn't flirted back with the woman, seeing his crestfallen face and slumped shoulders made Muriel feel worse than she'd ever felt before.

* * *

"I hate them!"

Muriel's cheeks burned as she paced inside Thomas's small shed office. She'd just come from dinner with her parents, where they'd not hesitated to tear her to shreds upon the news that she'd been cavorting around, unescorted, with a Muggle male. She'd expected they wouldn't exactly be happy that she hadn't been out finding a husband, but when they'd thrown in that perhaps she should target the Dumbledore boys rather than a Muggle who would only break her heart, she'd stormed out.

She knew enough now that Albus, who had finally returned from his adventures, didn't feel the same way about her.

Of course, she hadn't been able to share all the details with Thomas, substituting Muggle for 'farmer' in her rants.

", I mean it, I hate them," she said, her chest heaving up and down. "I'm going to refuse every single man they throw at me. I don't care about my reputation, or being a perfect Pure—a perfect daughter. I don't care!"

With her blood boiling, she turned to Thomas. He was sitting at his desk, his back to her. Once again, he was twirling a large white feather between his fingers.

"Are you even listening to me?"

There was a moment's silence. Then, in a cold voice, he said, "Why didn't you tell me you thought I was a coward?"

"What—I—I don't—"

"Your parents must think so too."

Thomas turned around in his chair, his eyes bloodshot. He was still playing with the feather, smoothing its vanes between his fingers. He let out a bitter laugh.

"The other day… after we left town… I went to sign up."

"What?"

A tingle of fear flew up Muriel's spine. She'd researched what was happening in the Muggle war, taking to reading Muggle newspapers and tuning into their wireless channels. The Muggles called it the Great War, but she didn't know why. From what she could tell, more men were dying or being blown up each day than those who remained in Britain, yet their version of the Ministry of Magic continued imploring them to sign up. Although their friendship had only been rekindled in the last few weeks, she couldn't imagine losing Thomas to some stupid battle.

He ignored her and continued playing with the feather.

"You're right to hate your parents. Parents can never be trusted, can they?" He gave another bitter laugh. "My father lied to me.I told the recruiting officers about my scarlet fever, and they laughed in my face. Told me I was just making excuses not to join.

"And you know the worst part? They were right. All that talk of being a hero and doing my bit was a lie. I could've easily faked my medical bill of health. It's easy enough to do; Billy Andrews is only sixteen and he signed up without a problem.

"No, I was just too cowardly to join."

Muriel shook her head. She'd never believed for one second that Thomas was a coward. If anything, she'd thought he was cowardly for not staying behind and helping his father, sacrificing his dreams of adventure for someone else.

Thomas screwed up his eyes for a moment. When he reopened them, she saw they were full of tears. He jammed the feather into his pocket and leant over, placing his face into his hands. His shoulders shook, and with a jolt, Muriel realised he was crying.

All thoughts of her parents and Albus left her mind. None of her problems would help either of them, nor would allowing Thomas to hate his father for simply trying to protect him.

Crossing the room, she grabbed his arms and forced him to look at her. Then, closing her own eyes before she could change her mind, she leant in and pressed a kiss upon his lips.

They were softer than she'd expected, moulding perfectly with her own. She'd always thought the only lips she'd kiss would be Albus', and yet now, with all her hatred for her own parents melting away, she found herself glad they weren't his.

When she finally pulled away, she saw that Thomas' eyes were wide with surprise. "Definitely not a lady…" he muttered, a grin sliding its way to his face.

She gave him a small slap to the face. "Now don't you ever let me hear you say you're a coward again, alright? I don't kiss cowards," she said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the white feather.

It floated to the ground as Thomas stood up, his hand rubbing his red cheek.

"Only if you do that again," he said, his grin still in place.

"Okay, but I'm only doing this because it solves my problem."

"Yeah?"

Leaning in again, feeling more daring, she locked her eyes on his. "My parents won't need to worry about me finding a beau anymore," she said, and their lips met again.

* * *

Bright, warm sunlight caressed Muriel's face, urging her to wake up. Her eyelids fluttered, but she refused to open them as she became flooded with emotions.

She felt guilty and ashamed for allowing herself to get as caught up as she did—if her reputation hadn't been ruined earlier, it certainly was now. She felt annoyed that Thomas had only half-heartedly asked if she was sure they should continue beyond a kiss, and more so with herself for telling him to be quiet. Above all, however, she felt euphoric, like the magic inside her had been awakened.

Still, she knew that her parents would probably send Aurors looking for her if she didn't return soon, and she sat up. Stretching, she peered around the office. Her boots had been kicked by the door, a button was torn off the side, and her dress was in a heap in front of them. Smiling, she picked up the matching burgundy ribbon beside her and tied up the auburn curls that had come loose from their braid.

"Thomas?"

The one thing that wasn't there was her new beau. He'd probably left to fetch breakfast, or to allay his father's suspicions. She used his absence to quickly redress, blushing at the thought he'd see her‚ imperfections and all, in daylight. Then, certain she was presentable again and still no Thomas, she scanned the room, wondering if she should stay or go.

Her eyes clapped on the white feather on the desk, and she walked over. For some reason, when she picked up the soft feather, her heart hammered in her chest, and the usual knot in her stomach returned. It was stupid how such an item could make a person feel; she had half a mind to go straight to town and tell off the Muggle women for giving them out as tokens of shame. Before she could throw it in the wastepaper basket, however, she realised that it had been sitting upon an envelope.

The letter was addressed to her, written in a burgundy ink that matched her dress and made the knot tighten. Opening it, she took out a folded piece of parchment—or rather, paper—and read it.

_For you, I won't be a coward anymore._

Large splotches of water caused the ink to run across the page, but Muriel didn't wipe her tears. Her eyes turned back to the feather in her hand, and with all the strength she could muster in her trembling hands, she began to rip it apart.

Thomas was wrong; he was a coward. A filthy, no good coward. No, he worse than a coward. He'd deserted his father—he'd deserted her.


End file.
